a nobody
by ftmc
Summary: a first attempt at FanFiction. probably overly angsty and in all honesty nothing like Harry Potter in the important sense but the glove fits so here it sits. one-shot. feel free to leave criticism but please no flames.


A deep crimson stained bathtub would have been the first thing to strike anybody that entered a certain dilapidated motel room in the shady district of an otherwise pristine city. Of course no one did enter, so there was nobody to observe a similarly stained and weary looking woman standing just behind it, a dirty bundle held in her arms. This bundle seemed to be entrancing to her, striking jade eyes hungrily staring at it, almost as if to steal it's innocence away at the first available opportunity. Eventually this battered and bruised woman broke herself of the trance she had entered and with a shake of her matted, fiery red hair she steadily limped to a half rotten table. She placed the bundle on the floor with an air of painful reluctance, practically dragging her petite frame the final few metres to the phone that lay on the rotting table, picking it up she paused for a few seconds before squaring her shoulders determinedly and violently stabbing a sequence of digits. 'Ring' 'Ring' filled the room but her efforts were for nought as whoever was to be the recipient of the call resolutely ignored it. It could be determined that this was the point that changed her, and more importantly constructed a future of agony for the small babe lying in his dirty bundle, quietly sobbing into the floor.

Red was a colour that seemed to be a constant in this boy's life, in particular a certain enrapturing shade of blood red. The thoughts of the boy mirrored this statement at the time as well as the majority of his years to come. The origin of his thoughts being the small spurt of it dampening his mother's hair. Hair that was currently caught in the wind as she fell limply to the side, that deceivingly small red spot blooming like a rose in spring. With his ears ringing it was just his eyes that recorded this arguably traumatising event.

The image they committed to his memory would haunt him, yet also comfort him for the remainder of his life. The eyes in particular suddenly peaceful, locked onto the shifting horizon with a carefree innocence, almost like that of a school girl eagerly returning home with gleeful steps. However it only masked a lurking darkness, the hidden insanity he was accustomed to. Though one might expect the gateway to the soul to have been the most memorable sight it wasn't to him, no for this poor boy it was that damnable smile. A smile that seemed to scream to the world my reward has finally arrived, a smile filled with happiness, contentment and even a hint of curiosity within the upturned corner of the smile. At times however it would be recalled in another form, an equally damnable grin. A grin filled with the story of suffering and pain, of a lurking, menacing anger beneath, a grin that called out, challenging Satan to find something worse for her, a grin filled with confidence that he couldn't.

Unseeing grey eyes blinked blankly, locked onto the patch of hard packed dirt that lay in front of him. The owner of these eyes was not blind, at least not in any conventional manner as the only thing he could not see or perceive was emotion, that consistently escaped him. He often wondered if it had fled hand in hand with his remaining innocence, escaping through his tears, slowly soaking through to his mother six feet under. Now understand that the answer didn't matter to this boy, the only answer he wished to know was to the question that plagued him. The question of whether his mother was content know in the eternal void of death. Part of him hoped that she wouldn't be, at least not until he was there to keep her company, however the more realistic part of him knew or at the very least suspected that the bullet that drilled its way through her gray matter was practically a blessing to her, with the blissful release it provided her, allowing her to finally escape the few responsibilities that had kept her rooted onto the mortal coil up until that point.

He had been seven when he witnessed her trying to hang herself in yet another grungy motel, entering the bathroom he had witnessed her standing on a stool with the shower curtain tied around her neck vacuously staring at the tiles as if to decipher their reason for being. Of course a this age the exact implications of the event escaped him but the boy could feel it in his bones that this was a bad thing so he nervously spoke out "Mommy?" in a timid a questioning manner. This seemingly broke her out of her unresponsive state but he later supposed that guilt was the driving force pushing her to untie the curtain and step down. When he was nine he walked into the bedroom to find his Mom on the floor with her wrists slit, being slightly more aware as to the significance of this he dashed to her side falling with a light thud, hurriedly shaking her shoulders while half screaming and half sobbing out "Mom, MOM… wake up… PLEASE MOM!". Once more her guilt refused to release her, perhaps fortunately for the boy, perhaps unfortunately. So with what might as well have been superhuman effort she got up and stalked into the bathroom, still dripping with crimson, grabbed a needle and stitches from the cupboard and stitched her wrists closed. Shortly afterward slumping against the wall and passing out; leaving the boy on the floor once again wondering why.

He wondered why, hadn't he suffered enough up until this stage with his borderline neglectful mother and distinct lack of a social life in any form. Clearly not he supposed as scrubbed yet another plate clean, slightly turning his head to view his chore list which read

CHORES **:**

1)Cook breakfast ✓

2)Clean dishes ✓

3)Mow lawn and prune bushes ✓

4)Clean dishes

5)Do the laundry

6)Cook dinner

7)Clean dishes

With a mournful sigh he bent back down to scrub at a particularly stubborn piece of potato skin. Only to violently jerk to the right as his Uncle slapped him round the head, he often theorised that one day if this continued he would end up just as brain damaged as his uncle-not that he would dare say such a thing out loud. No siree this boy was rather attached to the prospect of remaining alive, or at least he was at this moment in time, he'd see where his fancy took him later.

One rather important fact that should be understood about this boy was that his psyche was not the most intact of things, a fact that may well have been inevitable after the years of neglect and abuse he had been put through without any form of a coping mechanism. The shattering of his sanity can be traced back once more to his mother.

My mother stood stooped over a scolding stove, carefully tending to the beef stew that was being affectionately cooked for lunch today. I drooled at the thought of being able to taste such a fine meal, it almost made up for the fact that I wasn't allowed to eat with the family up at the table. My hunger slowly encompassed me until I gave in and inquired "May I be of any help Aunt?" merely in the hopes that I may be able to get a taste in early. My ears were regaled with the prim reply "I suppose you may, peel these potatoes if you would" and so I busied myself with the peeling. When i finished my mothe...Aunt offered me a spoonful to taste, I remember it being so tasty-a feature only assisted by the fact that it was the last warm meal I ever had. The problem was that I was hungry enough for seconds and so I left my room to enter the dining room but my mind was on other things as I wondered if I liked my new name, John Doe they had decided to call me but it was said like a joke which hardly endeared me to it, especially at the age of 12 when I was starting to become independant. So when I went to ask my mother for seconds I absentmindedly said "Could I have seconds please mom?" for I looked up to her as such at the time, and strangely still do at times despite everything. Now I realised I had made a mistake as a deathly silence permeated the room, the calm before the storm if you will, and a storm it was indeed as my Aunt exploded in outrage, spraying spittle all over me as she screamed "HOW DARE YOU, I AM NOTHING LIKE YOUR DISGUSTING WENCH OF A MOTHER! I will not replace such filth, so leave all mentions of that whore alone and abandon her to her deserved fate, a fate I believe you too may be worthy of, why if we weren't such upstanding citizens I would have you on your arse do sleep in the cold" it was at this moment that my Uncle picked me up by the scruff and carried me to my room, muttering angrily under his twitching moustache, promptly throwing me in.

After that event I was basically ignored, I became a nobody, everyday a regime of chores would await me along with two measly meals of stale bread and water, unless I was really lucky and got a slice of cold ham or turkey with the bread. Though such an event usually only occurred on special occasions. Day by day went past each one falling into the usual pattern of monotony, with just my thoughts and speculations keeping me entertained and vaguely sane. I can't quite say fully sane as much of the time I would lapse into a heated debate with myself over some subject or another, of course only if I was alone, I do have some sort of a self preservation instinct.

When this boy turned 16 it was another one of these dull boring days of neglect and the occasional abuse from his Uncle. However what the boy perceived as occasional was unsubordinate to the truth of the matter, as he was frequently beaten or insulted for even the smallest of slights. Anyway returning to the matter of this day, there was however one major difference, he had just turned 16 and was feeling daring. Daring enough to try and steal some food as a treat, of course the boy was hardly a trained thief and as such not very successful in hiding the evidence of his shelf raid. Consequently the next day when he woke feeling full and content he opened his door only to get shoved to the floor due to an aggressive shove from his Uncle.

I bounced off of the polished floor feeling really rather confused as to what had just occurred, however looking up the answer presented itself as our eyes met, mine filled with acceptance and a hint of confusion, his with hatred and rage. The resulting bellow shook the very walls of the room "WE PROVIDE YOU WITH A ROOF AND FOOD BUT THAT'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH FOR THE UNGRATEFUL BRAT IS IT, NO HE HAS TO GO STEAL FROM US, WELL THIEVES NEED TO BE APPROPRIATELY PUNISHED!" at this point I realised how much trouble I was in and so curled up in preparation of the incoming blow to my ribs, his kicks were however relentless and so as the sickening crack of my ribs filled the air so too did something deeper crack. With a primal yell I scampered back, ignoring the burning sensation in my chest, and closed my hand hand around the nearest object. I swung it at my approaching Uncle, the glass from the lamp shattering and gouging part of his cheek, this gave him pause for a moment but as realisation kicked in he charged for me with the customary crimson running down the side of his face.

Ducking under his meaty fists I made a break for the door just making it before he turned back around, I deftly slid out and started running for the stairs hearing heavy footfall behind me. As I approached the top stair I noticed my Aunt at the bottom having just locked to front door, so I skidded to a halt quickly taking stock of the situation, as far as I could tell I had two options, one-I coul... A mass of flesh collided with my back propelling me over the edge of the stairs mid-thought. As I saw the polished veneer wood floor rushing towards me my life ran through my mind alongside a wholly inappropriate thought of 'Wow, never expected such a cliché to be true'. I saw all the pain, the belts, the fists, the barbed words, the loneliness, the confusion and every person who turned a blind eye to it, the child services, strangers, even my own family. It struck me at this moment that if so many people ignored my plight how many might I have ignored, how many others might they have ignored. The realisation of how life looks when you're a nobody was striking to me. This thought was my last as my neck impacted the corner of a stair, bending to an impossible angle before giving up and snapping with an audible crack.

A small malnourished teenager would have been the first thing to strike anyone that entered the neverending void the boy found himself in. However it was just the boy in an infinite white abyss, though it would be perceived as a simple white room with large double doors when he woke. If he were to go through these double doors he would be struck by the appearance of a petite woman with striking red hair patiently standing there. Her vibrant jade eyes staring longingly at him, inviting him to enter her spread open arms, almost as if she was trying to return the innocence given to her. If he were to do all this he would find an eternity of happiness with a mended mother by his side. Perhaps even be mended himself.


End file.
